Lessons in Life
by ilexx
Summary: Set right after Double Helix, but not eprelated. Another one from Natta's and my challenges Beka and Dylan get captured by Nietzscheans...


**Lessons in Life**

She sat motionless, hands clasped around her knees, her eyes fixed on the only brighter spot recognisable in the damp, cold darkness: his face, so pale it stood out in the blackness that surrounded them..

Why? Why had she done this? Why did she have to show him? Why did she fight with him? Why had she talked him into coming to Iguacu Prime to ‚take a look for himself' and 'examine how his theories stood out in the harsh light of reality', as she had so eloquently – and bitingly – put it? Lifting a hand and lightly brushing her fingers along the side of his face, that was no longer wet, but feeling somehow crusted now that the blood had dried up, she could not suppress a heavy, worried sigh. Because she had wanted to teach him a lesson, that's why. Which he had learned by now, she supposed. Her plan had worked just fine. Or would have, had she also cared to go through the trouble of taking his idealistic, old-fashioned, funny views into account. Gazing down on Dylan Hunt's still features, Beka Valentine felt anew her anger raising high.

-

The _Andromeda Ascendant_'s encounter with the Orca Pride had left her first officer, Captain Rebekkah Valentine of the _Eureka Maru_, almost trembling with rage. Against all better judgement, against HER better judgement! Captain Dylan Hunt had engaged himself, their crew and both ships in a reckless attempt to get both the Than and the small Nietzschean pride to join him on his quest to restore the Commonwealth. As was to be expected, it worked but partially. Partially – and for the larger part, as Hunt himself had to admit – it worked not: the Than were willing to enter cautious negotiations, and the Orca simply refused no matter what, but not before (with Tyr's help) they had almost managed to kill them. More precisely: before they had pushed Dylan mere inches from blowing himself, his ship and all aboard up.

What had outraged Beka beyond the limits of her self-control had been the fact that in the end neither Tyr nor Dylan seemed to think that there was something wrong with this, that both obviously believed the risks to have been tolerable. She couldn't get her head around the fact that they had gambled with all their lives as if it were nothing. As far as she was concerned it was Dylan's third mistake in nearly as many months.

„Tell me, Hunt," she had shouted at him as soon as the doors to his office had closed behind her, „tell me: do you think **all **crew serving under you to be as disposable or is this a special treatment you reserve for us?"

He had shot up from behind his desk, more startled than angry.

„Beka, I... don't know..."

„Oh, believe me, that you don't know is something I'm painfully aware of! However I had thought that we have reached an understanding last when you not knowing nearly caused the death of someone here onboard. I had thought that from then on I was supposed to tell you about the things you don't know. And that you were supposed to take them into account."

„I did. I only thought in this particular case that the mutual benefit would be obvious. The Nietzscheans I knew..."

„The Nietzscheans you knew had been part of the Commonwealth for nearly four centuries. And some of them still betrayed it. Do you really think that the situation with and among them has improved since?"

For a brief moment Dylan Hunt took his time to contemplate the mask of fury right before him. Nodding lightly, he swallowed back his angry reply and spread out his arms in mock surrender.

„Okay," he sighed, „I'm sorry. I tried to catch up with everything that happened, but you're probably right: I don't fully grasp all changes. But you're wrong assuming that I was recklessly gambling with your lives."

Beka shook her head, only slightly calmer.

„Not ‚our lives'" she stressed, „but OUR lives; I do not want to see you risk yourself and this ship anymore than I want to see you risk us and the _Maru_. You must learn to listen more carefully to what I have to tell you."

„Agreed. And I suppose it really is high time we speak about your take on the Nietzscheans. So, why don't you tell me?" he asked with a little smile.

She smiled back, weighing him carefully.

„Know what? I'll do better. Why don't I just show you?"

-

Reflecting on the events that had brought them here, Beka now understood that not really listening to advice at times was something of a captain's professional malformation. When they heard about her plan to take Dylan to Iguacu Prime, one of the Jaguar colonies and fairly well opened to trade, tourism and leisure activities, none had been too thrilled. Rev had pointed out that according to Dylan's personal files he had never been on an only-Nietzschean world in his entire life, not even in the times before the Fall. Harper had objected to taking him to a place where the Nietzschean population lived on the backs of a vast non-Nietzschean slave system, since slavery had been a long extinct concept in the universe as Dylan had known it. _Andromeda_ had felt it foolish to have just the two of them walking around any place buzzing with potentially dangerous strangers without substantial protection. And even Trance had shown some reserve, telling Beka that – while shopping and relaxing in huge, artificial luxury compounds could be distracting at times – Dylan did not seem the type to overlook the huge gaps between rich and poor, the discrimination, the poor treatment the enormous mass of the underpriviledged were subjected to. Beka had dismissed this, telling her that Dylan was not a child that needed to be shielded from the truth, and that in fact it was exactly that what she wanted him to see: what a Nietzschean world – and one that was considered as fairly liberal at that – looked really like. She simply didn't listen. And was now furious with herself: that Tyr had been the only one approving of her plan... it should have told her something!

Needless to say that they had been right. From the minute they had landed on Iguacu Prime and had taken up residence in a hotel complex situated on the shore avenue of Alcazar, Iguacu's largest city, Dylan went into shock: the beautiful compound they lived in, the fit, healthy, laughing Nietzscheans they saw, who talked and moved with insouciant, arrogant ease, the orgy of colours, pleasant aromas, wonderfully crafted merchandise and exquisitely tasting food of all sorts, the abundant vegetation and marbled splendour of the avenues and buildings contrasted violently with the incredible amount of sick, poor or disabled, non-Nietzscheans either begging in the streets and clearly envying the armies of better fed, properly clad slaves of all species the captain of the _Andromeda_ had ever seen (and some he couldn't identify, as well), who served their masters and the ones, who brought their wealth to them, with utmost diligence, in their servitude reminding more of helpful shadows than of sentient beings. The more or less comfortable, yet in comparison to the Nietzschean and touristic areas always somewhat cramped, dirty, smelly quarters everybody else seemed to live in, children in rags, looking for food in waste-bins, all of them of an age when they should have spent their time in school, sometimes trying their luck with stealing from the ones better off, begging... It would have saddened Dylan in any case, but seeing it displayed next to the superb splendour that Alcazar also was, made him mad and hurting and left him at a loss.

The Nietzscheans he remembered had been fierce, arrogant warriors, interested mainly in science and arts of a somewhat rougher style than others seemed to like, endowed with ferocious love for their families and traditions, not trusting blindly, but by and large quite loyal (the very end set aside). They were overbearing, suffering from a clear superiority complex, far more aggressive and selfish than anyone else in the Commonwealth. But they understood that they were part of a body, superior maybe, but still just one race among others, a powerful branch of a tree that needed all other parts as well in order to survive.

The Nietzscheans he saw here were a cold, indifferent society divided in omnipotent masters and a huge mass of rightless pariahs. Thinking about the methods that had to be applied in order to make so many obey every wish of so few, made Dylan almost shudder in disgust.

Observing his reactions, Beka soon became aware that her crash course in Nietzschean reality might not have been the very best idea she ever had. But by now it was too late to do something about it: Dylan refused to leave, diving deeper and deeper into the harsh truths Alcazar had to offer, and the _Andromeda_ – safely and more than five jumps away from them – could not be reached to ask them for further assistance.

Just how much more she had bitten off than she could chew became however apparent only during the last night they were scheduled to stay on Iguacu Prime.

-

It had surprised Beka, who had by now become used to Dylan's usually even-tempered, easy-going, casual and rather sociable behaviour, to see him close up, withdraw within himself, trapped in a slowly mounting, cold, contemptous fury, tensing more and more the longer they were there. Over the past four days he had not spoken more than what was absolutely necessary, forcing himself to ease up with her over their meals together and still not managing to ignore the always somewhat frightened, submissive manners those who served them, worked all around them had. Whenever Beka thought to have finally managed to lure him out of his state of incredulous, frozen up incomprehensiveness, there had been one incident or other that drew him right back in: some Nietzschean children on the promenade making fun of a small Umbrite child, who could not defend himself, even throwing stones at him, with Nietzschean militia patrol standing by and watching, a human waitress dropping a tray and beginning to tremble and cry loudlessly, as if she had just committed the worst mistake of her life, while the likewise human maître d' was hissing furiously at her and throwing furtive, fearing glances at the Nietzschean patron who observed the scene from afar. Wealthy Nightsiders overlooking begging, disease stricken creatures, while carrying home their expensive shopping loot. Human tourists slapping human slaves who had incidentally touched them while serving a dish. Small incidents showing a deeply rooted, ruthless, thoughtless indifference for anything other than one's own whims and wishes.

It was a small miracle that Beka had so far managed time and again to keep Dylan from stepping in, taking action, speaking his mind. Human tourists spending a lot of money, having fun and behaving like Neanderthals towards the serving masses were one thing; human tourists objecting to the way the slaves and non-Nietzscheans were treated by the masters and their paying guests were a different matter altogether. Yet ideals and principles set aside, Dylan Hunt was neither stupid nor was he suicidal. He watched, observed and took the lessons Beka meant to teach him as placidly as he could. And he let her reign him in, whenever he felt his anger threatening to overwhelm him. A warning, cold look of hers, a hand closing firmly around his wrist, a soft tug on his sleeve were usually enough to make him snap out of his indignant mood and reconsider.

Until last night. They had had dinner on the terrace of Beka's room, that was overlooking the trimmed lawn ending on a promenade, that separated the hotel from the public beach. She had had it brought up before he arrived and served it herself, sparing him the strain of yet another evening at the restaurant filled with silent shadows trying to anticipate his every wish. It was over. She'd done it and he'd understood. Beka was confident that from now Dylan would stop to think twice, listen a little more carefully to what they had to say before rushing into yet another parley with the next Nietzschean pride he knew of from his old times. By next day they would be back on the _Andromeda_, and driving yet another point home to him would not have made sense. As the evening proceeded he had seemed to relax, started talking about the way things were... and how they used to be.

„They were never pleasant, but they weren't mindlessly inconsiderate, either," Dylan explained to Beka. „They had, just like all others, good and bad aspects to them. But this brutal decadence with which they rule supreme... They never had that. And there must be a way out of it, back to what they were..."

Beka shrugged.

„Maybe." Seeing the small hope in his eyes dying out, she smiled comfortingly. „Of course there is. They all are, if nothing else, survivors. They've been like that for almost two centuries now, but there are enough Nietzscheans out there knowing that decadent brutes don't survive in the long run. But walking into negotiations relying on nothing but rational thought, common sense and mutual benefits for them to see the light is not the way to do it. You need more power, more force, you need to have them believe that you are stronger, smarter and more ruthless than they are to make them understand. You left the Orcas with three options really: to join you, run or die. It was one option too many. If you want Nietzscheans into this New Commonwealth of yours, you have to leave them a choice between two alternatives only: to join you or die. Let's look for other allies, other partners first, before we start convince the most dangerous species..."

Drunken noise from the promenade interrupted them. A group of Nietzschean teenagers was coming their way, dragging along a human and a Ferran girl, who were both screaming, kicking and trying to get away from them. It was rather late, but one by one there were rooms lights switched on, as people came to see what it was all about. Seeing Dylan's face clouding over as he stood up and approached the low rail of the terrace, Beka hurried to his side, placing an hand lightly on his arm in an attempt to restrain him. His own closed on hers, reassuringly, but then froze on her fingers, as they both watched in horror how the Ferran girl managed to wrestle herself free, turned around and stumbled, impaling herself on the boneblades of the young Nietzschean behind her, who had his arm outstretched.

Before Beka could get a firmer grip on Dylan, he had set over the rail and was already rushing down to where the girl had collapsed to the feet of the five Nietzscheans who were laughing and prodding her with their boots. The human girl fell silent, watching down on her fellow victim with terror in her eyes. In a flash Dylan was among them, pushing the drunk, startled boys aside, throwing himself to his knees and gently turning the Ferran over. Her skin was a darker shade of blue than usual, her eyes were half-open and fixed, and Dylan was not an expert on Ferran physiology, but holding his face close to her mouth he seemed to feel a shallow breath.

„I think she's alive. Quick, get a doctor! Move!" he shouted over his shoulder, pressing his hands on the stabbing wounds. When he sensed and heard no-one reacting to his words, he lifted his head and found himself staring into blank, cold eyes and faces. „What are you doing? Didn't you just hear me? By the Divine, call someone!" he barked at them in rage.

„I already did. Medical assistance and security are on their way," he then heard Beka's cool, distant voice from behind him. Looking back he saw her standing a bit outside the circle that had been formed around the body. One of the boys to his right also looked at her, ironically raising an eyebrow:

„What for? They are new slaves, not yet broken, cheap merchandise. Not worth the effort," he then slurred, dismissively. There was only an instant of complete stillness, in which Beka could watch almost in slow motion how Dylan's face suddenly became void of all colour, all expression as he simply lost it. Without so much as a single sound he leapt to his feet and threw himself at them with amazing speed, precision and a viciousness she hadn't so far thought him capable of. Before she could react there were already two of the young men lying unconscious and bloodied on the immaculate lawn. In spite of their numbers and their Nietzschean strength, they were no match for Dylan: they were young, inexperienced and much too drunk to react properly to his blows. Using the disorder, Beka quickly stepped in and dragged the human girl out of the entanglement:

„Go," she told her softly. „Run and don't look back!" Placing a filled-up credit-chip into her palm, Beka turned her towards the beach and pushed her gently into the darkness. It was high time for that.

Alas, as she had told Dylan, she had called for both medical assistance **and** security. Turning back towards the scene of the action, Beka could see that it had not been in vain. From the hotel she saw a group of six Nietzscheans approaching them at high speed, four of them covered in body armour. She threw Dylan a worried look, who was just finishing off the last one of the youngsters. She shook her head. It had been a fast piece of work: there could not have been more than 5-6 minutes passing since they had first noticed the noisy group.

„Dylan..." she softly tried to warn him about the new situation, but the Nietzscheans were already on the scene.

„What happened here?" A Nietzschean even taller and broader than Tyr inquired in a neutral voice, although his eyes narrowed seeing that the five young men either unconscious or curled up on themselves on the lawn were all Nietzscheans, while both Dylan and Beka as well as the victim weren't.

„They were dragging her along against her will. She tried to flee and fell on the blond one's boneblades. They refused to call for medical assistance and were kicking her..." Beka brought forward.

The huge Nietzschean mustered her coldly.

„Is she a guest?"

„I don't know," Beka answered. Displeased she saw one of the boys raise his head and looking at the security man.

„She's a slave, and a fresh, worthless one at that..." he panted through clenched teeth.

„Then why did you call for medical assistance? And more importantly: why did you attack those gentlemen?"

Beka bit her lip.

„Now wait a minute..." Dylan, who had been concentrating on the paramedics so far, fell in, but he didn't get much further.

„No, **you** wait a minute: you are a guest on a Nietzschean planet. That does give you the right to look around and enjoy yourself. But you can't interefere with the personal business of Nietzscheans native from Iguacu Prime, nor can you go around and beat up our people. You are both under arrest."

„What?" Before Beka could stop him, Dylan exploded anew, his outburst coming so sudden that he even managed to punch the huge Nietzschean down before his comrades also kicked into action. While the other three threw themselves at Dylan, the one, who had been kicked down and seemed to be in charge, quickly drew his gun and pointed it at Beka, slightly shaking his head while he regained his footing. She held her hands up and let him roughly grab her arm after he had closed in on her. Helplessly she watched Dylan's futile struggles against the by now clearly furious guards. **They **were a match for him and it didn't take them long to corner him, driving him backwards to where their boss was standing next to Beka. When he was well within comfortable range, the massive Nietzschean got his weapon up, delivering a massive blow to the unprotected back of Dylan's skull. The captain of the _Andromeda Ascendant_ simply fell like a cut-off tree.

-

And that was that. They had been brought to a cell that reminded Beka more of a dungeon torture chamber, a dark, dirty, cold and damp hole, with chains embedded into the massive walls, an equally massive metal door and a small opening about 3 metres high above their heads. Dylan was unconscious and stayed that way while they dragged him along. And he hadn't stirred once since they had taken up residence in their lovely new quarters.

The head wound bled profusely and it took Beka a while to stop the bleeding, using a piece of cloth she had torn out of her tank top, that hadn't been exactly displaying an exaggerated quantity of cloth to begin with. As the time passed she began to be painfully aware of the missing fabric, as the coldness began to creep into her bones. She stood up and started pacing around, trying to warm herself up. After a while she moved along the walls, her hands feeling for a hidden opening, some devices, anything that might get them out of there. While looking around the empty, slimy space she suddenly became aware of a pair of eyes staring intensely at her. They were small, glistening and in a remote corner. It was too dark to figure out exactly what they belonged to, but after giving the matter some thought Beka decided that she could very well do without too much knowledge on this particular subject. She then returned to Dylan's side, sat down and encircled her knees with her arms in a vain attempt to keep warm. From time to time she brushed a hand over Dylan's face, not liking the clammy feeling of his skin, but not knowing either what she could do about it. No one came. No one brought them water. Or food. Or a firing squad. For hours and hours nothing at all happened.

And then she started thinking. About what had happened. What had led them to the exciting here and now they were experiencing together. And she began to get angry, with the Nietzscheans, with herself, with Dylan. Most of all with Dylan. Yes, he definitely was very well suited for getting angry with.

-

Four more hours later she wasn't even angry anymore. She was just cold. And thirsty. Hungry. And upset.

He still hadn't moved and now she started to get really worried. Another touch of his face showed her that – while she was cold – his forehead was rather hot. Unlike the rest of him. His hands were almost icy. She knew that he was running a fever and that she needed to somehow get him at least a bit warmer. But there was no way that she could have moved him. She brought her face close to his ear.

„Dylan..."

„Beka?" His voice sounded a bit desoriented and coarse, as if he had to squeeze it through something to get it out. But he had answered her, and she was really startled.

„Dylan! You're... awake? Oh, thank the Divine! How long..." She stopped, watching him with furrowed brows. „Have you been awake for longer?"

„For sometime," he told her.

„Why didn't you tell me?"

„You didn't ask..."

„Dammit, Dylan!" she shouted at him furiously, „I thought you were dying..."

Hid eyes cracked a bit open.

„No, but I might be getting deaf," he murmured. „Could you settle for that?" It was only then that Beka realised that she had been rising her voice while she still had her face hovering only inches above his.

„Sorry," she offered, pushing herself a bit away from him. „Why didn't you tell me?" she then asked anew. „I need to get you moving, so I can slip behind you."

„Beka, I don't think that major shifting of troops will change our situation for the better."

„I think it might. You've been lying there motionless for at least 7 hours. It's wet, it's dirty, cold... And I am pretty sure that you're running a fever and having a concussion. I don't want you lying there like that for another 7 hours."

"I won't. I am pretty sure that something will happen at some point soon. The _Andromeda_ will come."

„Probably," she admitted. „But not before tomorrow... Come on, big guy, let's try to get you moving!"

It was a bad idea. As soon as he started to rise, he had to roll over to one side and began retching violently. He heaved painfully long after there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. When he finished, he rolled back and tried to get up again.

Supporting his shoulders, Beka tried to slow him down a bit.

„Easy... You don't have to get up so far. Dylan, wait! Dylan, what are you trying to do?"

„Get to my feet and move over into the other corner..."

„Ah, okay – well maybe you could inform me of your plans, so that we can develop a strategy together," Beka told him. „Anyway, that's not a good idea. So far this corner seems by far to be the cosiest."

He shot her a somewhat troubled look.

„I just threw up in your cosy corner. What's the matter? Did they hit you, too?"

„N-no, but..." she shrugged embarrassed. „We've been in here for hours. The corner on the other side of the room I... I used it for... Well, I needed to..." she stammered around.

„I see," he said dryly. „Well, there are two more..."

„They're... They're occupied."

„They are? By whom."

„I didn't ask. And I also would rather keep it that way."

„Oh." there was some silence. „I could ask," he then offered, peering into the two distant corners, but drawing himself slightly backwards upon noticing at least meanwhile five tiny pairs of glistening eyes staring back at him.

„Umm, no." To his immense relief he heard Beka declining his offer. She had meanwhile managed to get him slightly upright and slipped right behind him, leaning into the corner and stretching her legs out on each side of him. Carefully she eased him back until he was leaning against her, his entire torso now no longer in contact with either floor nor wall.

„How is that?" Beka asked him. „Better?"

„Wonderful," he drawled, slightly slurring the word. „It's a shame to waste this on someone in my condition..."

She smiled into the darkness, rubbing his arms lightly in a futile attempt to warm him up some more. There was no further reaction. She peered into his face. With Dylan's normally quite lively features so slack and his eyes closed, she couldn't tell if he had not fallen asleep. Or was still conscious. Or alive, for that matter.

„Dylan?"

„Hm...?"

„Just checking!"

„Checking what?"

„You. Sorry, but I don't think you should fall asleep. You..." She hesitated. „You look like hell."

He opened an eye briefly.

„Well, thank you, Ma'am." Seeing her not responding to his meager attempt to joke, he patted her on one hand that was resting on his biceps. „Don't worry, Beka. I'm sure that I'm better than I look."

„I hope so," she replied dryly. „Would you feel the way you look, you'd be dead."

„Is ist really that bad?" he asked, chuckling lightly. She only nodded. „You should see the other guy..." he tried to joke once more.

„I DID see the other guy," Beka replied. „He looked just fine to me," she told him reproachfully.

„Yes, but you didn't see how much I hurt his pride..."

„Dylan, about all of this... I'm sorry."

„What about?"

„For making you do this. For dragging you along. For not realising that you're still not quite up to coping with..."

„Beka," he interrupted her. „I will never be able to cope with something like that. It's not your fault and you were right to show me exactly what the rules are." He smiled ruefully. „But I do hope that the next lesson you teach me can take place somewhere in front of one of _Andromeda_'s screens."

„Well, showing you, making you experience things live is easier than telling you about all the mistakes you're making. More... polite, you know."

„You mean, our ending up here is your attempt at bringing it to me gently why I screwed up so often during the past months? No offense, Beka, but there have to be better ways to spare my feelings..."

„Well, you shouldn't have accepted," she told him reproachfully.

„I was being polite..."

„You know what?" Beka asked him, her voice a bit shaky with suppressed laughter. „Politeness is highly overrated!" He laughed along with her. _Keep him awake and talking_, she admonished herself, her arms closing tighter around him as she felt him sliding somewhat lower in her grip.

„I wish..." she then heard him murmur. She waited for him to continue, but nothing more came.

„What? What do you wish for?" He just shook his head in silence. Alarmed, she saw his face grimace in sudden pain. But then she noticed that he afterwards seemed at least a bit more alert, his features no longer teetering between comatose and cadaverous. He opened his eyes, trying to focus in on her.

„What do you wish for?" Beka tried once more.

„Water..." It was not what he had wanted to say first, but she accepted it graciously.

„Oh yes, so do I," she agreed with him sadly.

„And food..." he added, his tone a bit dreaming now.

Well, that was a ray of hope. If he could even think about food, at least he hadn't gotten worse.

„Unless you want to settle for some... rat sushi..." Beka said with regret evident in her voice.

He grunted, shifting slightly.

„If this goes on much longer, rat sushi is going to sound rather exciting." And then, just after a while: „I hope someone will get here soon..."

„I doubt it," Beka told him.

„Why is that?"

„What has Tyr told you about the current Nietzschean judicial system?"

„Not much, I'm afraid. Is there much to know?"

„That is just the problem: no, there isn't. In societies ruled by Nietzscheans, if someone commits an infraction against their penal code, they simply take individual responsibility to the bottom. You go to jail, no trial, no legal representation, no mitigating circumstances."

„That's rather simplistic. And once you are in jail?"

„They let you out once someone is willing to bail you out – for an adequate sum of money."

„And if no one is?"

„They don't let you out."

„You stay in jail?" Dylan asked incredulously. Beka nodded. „For how long?"

„Forever."

That he didn't start voicing his opinions on that one, scared Beka. He was quite clearly losing what little strength he had left.

-

„Dylan! Are you still with me?"

„Yeah..." He didn't sound like it. Had her head not been so close to his, she would have missed the whisper.

„I wanted to tell you..." She stopped, not sure she wanted to go on with it. But then she cleared her throat. „I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad that..."

„If you say that you're glad to have signed up with me, I'll think you've given up..." he said, not bothering to open his eyes to her. She cleared her throat again. _Damn' him!_ That had been exactly what she meant to tell him.

„No, I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad you didn't ask for rat sushi after all..."

„I wouldn't have known what to serve with it..."

„I would. I think some red wine..." She sighed. „I'm slowly wishing I weren't so afraid of those damn' rats!"

He let out a croaked, pained little laugh.

„You like red wine, you don't wear dresses, you fight better than most guys I've known, you fly better than I would have thought possible... Oh, I am **so** glad that you are afraid of rats!" There was no answer. Slowly he opened his eyes, right into her face. She was staring at him, the look in her eyes anything but gentle.

„Sometimes," she said lowly, „sometimes I really wish that you were my boyfriend..."

He scrutinised her features. And then started to grin slowly.

„So that you could dump me?"

„So that I could dump you," she confirmed menacingly, before she started to grin back in response.

„And then I would suffer like Tyr did with Freya? _The Sorrows of Young Werther_ and all that jazz?" He winked lightly. „Ohh, I don't think so!" His grin became cocky, bright, for a moment revealing a glimpse of the Dylan Hunt she was accustomed to. And then he again shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable in her arms.

„You know," he said letting his eyelids drop tiredly, „no woman I want to keep would ever dump me!"

Beka could not believe it. He had thrown down the gauntlet. She sat there looking at him, listening to his slow, much too steady breathing and then, closing her eyes briefly, she promised herself that, if they were to make it out of here, she would pick it up... and call his bluff. As things were going, this was not the last painful lesson Dylan was to receive from her.

-

The metallic scartching of the huge door on the floor woke her up from a troubled slumber. Blinking she tried to focus, Dylan's limp body like a load of lead on her torso and in her arms. And then they were all around them: Tyr lifting the captain up with utmost ease, Harper and Trance hurrying to help Beka on her feet and keep her steady, Rommie supervising the scene vigilantly, ready to step in should anything go wrong.

„How...?" Beka tried to ask them.

„We came straight here when you didn't show up on schedule. The hotel informed us," Harper explained in a low voice.

„Sorry it took us so long, but we had to first get the cash together to bail you out!" Trance offered.

Letting herself being slowly led out of the cell and struggling to keep up with Tyr, Beka shot them a troubled look.

„Was it much?"

„A lot!" Harper nodded.

„He sold the ceremonial gold goblets," Rommie complained from behind.

„But I got you back your golden boy and girl!" Harper threw at her in a scournful voice. And then turning to Beka: „I see that you've showed Dylan some mighty fine new aspects about what life is like in our exciting times. Is he gonna make it?"

„Oh yes," Trance replied, „I scanned him briefly and once he's back onboard he'll be just fine, you'll see."

„So he'll survive the lesson? Boss, you're getting soft," Harper joked with Beka.

„Oh, he'll survive all right," she told him with a smug grin. "He'll survive – **this** time."


End file.
